


Gravitational

by InediblePeriwinkle



Series: Suburban Shenanigans [1]
Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: AU where these two get to retire instead of die, Domestic, M/M, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Reginald was never one to aspire for domestic life. He was a King, a Ruler, a Leader, with no aspirations outside of building his empire. But a change in fate leaves him reflecting on his life, on his husband, and how their lives are different now.
Relationships: Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Series: Suburban Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1985827
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	Gravitational

Reginald woke up to light filtering between cloth blinds. 

He laid there, just a second, the fuzzy unconsciousness of sleep spilling over him. Watched the sunlight dance across the wooden floors, the lush tree outside shaking itself in the wind, sending fluttering golden spots all over the bedroom. 

Reginald Copperbottom was not someone who slept in. Ever. Too much to do, no time to rest, not a minute to be wasted in the day. He spent his days on the airship or in a bunker hunkered over papers or touring places that needed extra care. Calling parts of his organization or comparing notes to the other higher-ups. Reaching for greater and greater heights, avoiding the law in multiple countries, setting leaders in the right positions. He was up early and to bed late, sleeping only when necessary. 

But Reginald wasn’t Leader anymore. So he could do whatever he wanted, he supposed. 

He debated lying in bed a little longer, but it wasn’t like he’d fall back asleep. 

The man got up, changing his clothing and glanced towards the master bathroom. Unruly brown-grey curls spilled into his vision, untamed and annoying. He could easily spend another hour getting his hair groomed into the way he liked. But again, what was the point? 

He wasn’t going anywhere today. Right now, he just wanted a black coffee and to try and get his brain back online from its disconnected status. 

The bedroom was a good size, but the hallway was small. Reginald was short and narrow by nature but even two of him would be unable to walk side by side. 

The floors creaked underneath his shining shoes, everything else in the house silent. 

Silent. 

The airship had never been silent, if everyone had held their breath the wind would still hum against the sides of it, the engines would still fire. Voices and footsteps echoed all night on the ship and in their various bases, the occasional cough or laugh reminding Reginald that people lived outside his quiet doors. 

Here, in this tiny little neighborhood, the world was not stirring. He expected to hear birds, people, children, something. It was so quiet. 

Reginald glanced into the living room at the end of the hall, empty. So. 

He turned right, into the kitchen, seeing Right standing with his back to him, a cup of coffee in hand and staring out into their backyard. 

He was still wearing his hat, the same jacket he’d worn every day since the day the two of them met. 

Reg’s own head was bare, not a piece of jewelry outside his new gold band adorned his fingers. He looked like a normal, tired 40-something waking from a troubled sleep. 

Right still looked like a Toppat. 

He had heard him already. Reginald knew that, knew that if a mouse so much snuck into the house Right would’ve heard it. Was still hardwired to protect, to be fully aware of his surroundings at any given time, could be woken from a dead sleep alert and ready to neutralize any threats. 

Reg’s shoes clacked smartly underfoot, but Right still didn’t turn. Didn’t move a muscle until Reginald’s hand brushed over worn leather, cracking at the joints from use like it’s owner in his later years. 

“Right?” 

-

“Arthur Wright, am I correct?” 

Reginald had to tilt his chin up to look the man in the eyes. He was tall, incredibly broad, a wall of ripped muscle and rough edges with bright red hair. 

A contrast to his small statue, more soft around the stomach and thighs, face still young and framed to the side by long, lank hair that fell into irritating waves. 

“Right,” The man’s voice was rough, accented, into something that sounded Australian and yet not; thank god another not-American on this damned airship. “You’re Copperbottom, I’m guessing.”

“Precisely,” He was absolutely the most appealing man on board, if a little lacking in the brains department. Reginald always had a knack for sizing people up. “I heard I’m going to be part of your operatives while I get adjusted to my new position.” 

Not an Elite, not yet, but it was going to happen. He was going to make it happen, he just needed to get his hands dirty with the more menial work first. 

The man he’d shaken hands with- his dwarfed his own, callouses brushing over Reginald’s soft palms- raised a bushy eyebrow. 

Reginald straightened. 

“Dunno how much they told you,” The redhead said, eyes glittering under the low brim of his hat, “It’s rough work.” 

Ooh. Reginald took a deep breath, forcing a smile. 

“I assure you, I’m perfectly capable,” The man shot him his most charming smile. “I’m positively _delighted_ to be here. I hope I can prove my skills soon.”

“Hmm,” The older man said, and Reginald swore he saw a brief smile on his face. “Tomorrow soon enough for you?” 

“Tomorrow?” He repeated, the silk dropping rather rapidly from his tone. “No time at all for me to get acquainted with everyone, then?” 

Wright shrugged. “We’re busy around here. I’ve placed you in a good group.” 

“Kind of you,” Reginald muttered. 

No rest for the wicked. No, no, this was better, he would get a head start and prove just how incredible and what an asset he was. If that idiot Suave ever paid attention to anything that didn’t give him some kind of immediate adrenaline rush. 

“Well, I suppose I should get to my quarters, then,” Reginald thought quickly. He needed this beefcake to like him if he was going to be his superior. “Would you mind showing me where it is?” 

“I can take ya,” The man said, beckoning with his right hand, “Come on, then.” 

Reginald tilted his head charmingly, slipping an arm through Wright’s and ignoring the startled jolt the man gave. He waited, and the guy didn’t pull back even if that caught him by surprise. 

Ooh, if he was willing to let this go, Reginald could do something with this. If he needed to. Surely there was someone to charm here, some way to get himself to rise through the ranks a little faster, spend less time on the field where he was useless and among the best minds where he belonged. 

At the top, always. This was temporary. 

But the blood-born Toppat would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the feeling of thick muscle under the buttery-soft leather under his hand. Temporarily. 

-

Reginald took the cup deftly from Right’s hand, taking a long and obnoxious sip. 

“We have more coffee, Reg,” Right said, not even looking at him. 

“I didn’t feel like making any,” Reginald snipped, leaning into Right’s side. The jacket was slick under his cheek, crumbling with age, but the body underneath still didn’t give under the new weight. “This is just fine.” 

He heard the other snort. He smiled, slow and curling, back into the rim of the glass. 

Sunlight poured into their backyard, over immaculately-mown grass and the full trees with thick trunks. 

Think those are apple trees,” Right mentioned to Reginald, “Guess we’ll see in a few more months.” 

In a few more months. Reginald bit his tongue to keep from saying the first sentence that came to mind. 

We’ll still be here in a few months? 

Yes. They would be. Reginald exhaled, slowly, feeling a bitter dislike for the beautiful shade of grass, the weed-free and utterly perfect thing it was. 

“Well, that’s going to be a pain in the ass to mow,” Reginald mentioned, taking another sip of whatever delicious dark blend Right had decided to buy, “I hope you don’t expect me to do it.” 

“Nah,” Right replied thoughtfully, “I’ll do it.” 

Reginald raised an eyebrow up at him. “I hardly think so.” 

_That_ earned him a dirty scowl. Right plucked the drink from Reginald’s cupped hands and strode out of the kitchen towards the living room.

Reginald watched the stiff way he moved, the new shakiness in his hands and discomfort in his shoulders. He watched after him, a dark furrow between his brows. 

There was a reason he wasn’t back at the base. Why he was here at all, why he let himself be dragged from his lifestyle and comforting surroundings. And it wasn’t because he’d been done, tired, out of ideas. 

The wince he saw when Right turned just now was why. Was enough for Reginald Copperbottom to abandon everything he loved, everything except for one. Right had to know why, even if they never talked about it. 

He never thought himself capable of love, not the real and selfless kind of love people swooned stupidly over, but here he stood in this idiotic suburban kitchen regardless. 

“I hope you don’t expect me to bring you more, after that!” Reginald called after him, making enough for the both of them anyhow. 

He muttered to himself the entire time and Right deserved it. As if Reg was going to let him lift a finger after how his last mission went down. Nearly got himself killed, the old bastard. Presumably old bastard, anyway, it wasn’t as if they knew for sure. 

-

“And that’s why you go by Wright?” Reginald asked incredulously, hair plastered to his face and sputtering in the downpour. “How do you not know your first fucking name?” 

Wright shrugged, a slight amused twitch in his lips. “Pretty sure my last name’s Wright.” 

“And that’s it?” Reginald shook his head. “How old are you?” 

“Dunno for sure.” 

“Ridiculous,” The other man muttered to himself. “How long have you bloody been here, then?” 

The redhead tilted his head up thoughtfully, rainwater pouring from the brim. 

“Has to be ‘bout…” He squinted, up at the cloudy night sky, illuminated by the nearest streetlamp. “Ten years?” 

Reginald tilted his head upwards as well, sputtering as his shorter brim spilled rainwater down his back. He cursed, loudly, shaking out his hands. 

Right was walking away, but he swore he heard him laughing. 

Asshole. 

And _Ten_ years?

“I would have been-” Reginald bit his tongue before he could admit his actual age to this pretty much stranger.  
Fourteen. So he had to be at least four years older than him, likely more. 

Wright turned back around, back to a casual sort of expression but with a twinkle Reginald really didn’t like in his eye. 

“Young,” Wright teased, “I thought so. Thought you were a kid when you first showed up here.” 

Reginald scowled, seething, picking damp hair from his face. 

“Aren’t you just a joker when you want to be,” He grumbled to himself. “I think I preferred it when you walked around like the strong, silent type and let me be.” 

“Aww, that’s cute,” The other lifted his chin, crossing his arms and raising himself to his _incredibly_ impressive height. “Don’t sass your superior, Copperbottom.” 

“ _Superior_ ,” Reginald bit, but there was no real venom behind it. “You’re a pain in my side, you know that?” 

“That’s my job, innit?” Wright actually smiled at him that time, something slow and fond that sent a curl of heat into Reginald’s stomach, “Make sure you behave yourself.” 

Ooh, he needed to ignore exactly how he was feeling right now. That could cause some trouble for him. Reginald took a steadying breath. 

-

“I am a well-mannered individual,” Reginald announced to his husband as he offered him a new cup of coffee. “Don’t read into it as if I like you or something along those lines.” 

Right shot him a fond look over the brim of his glass. “’Course not.” 

Reg smiled back at him, settling into a chair next to the couch. 

It was quiet in the house, though now the ex-leader could hear cars moving along their sleepy road outside.

He watched Right, who looked off outdoors again with a dazed sort of expression. Quiet. 

He was older. Reg guessed, now that he knew him a little better, just a little, spent over twenty years living in each other’s company, he’d place Right at about six years his senior. A conservative estimate, but one he felt was fairly accurate. Enough that Right had adopted it into his answers when Toppat doctors or ID Forgers asked. 

Reginald’s smile stayed on his face. Not sharp but softened at the edges, feathery and lazy. Old bastard indeed. 

Oh, he was a handsome old man, though. Roughened, worn, but all in the right places. Like the jacket he wore, weathered but functional if you took a little care. Right’s fingers were twisted with constant healing breaks and the aftermath of arthritis but he could still wield weaponry like the trained bodyguard he was. If he needed to. 

It was Reginald’s job now, as it had been Right’s previous, to keep him from having to use any more force than necessary. Being the protector. 

He’d been protected, and very well, for over two decades. He supposed it was only fair. 

Right’s body held all the scars he’d had before he met Reginald and so many more he’d earned by taking as many hits as he could for him. 

Oh yes, he’d been protected very well. He didn’t even have to ask, Right would just leap into the action at his defense as soon as it was needed. He spilled blood sparingly in his division, all until he met Reginald. 

The two of them formed a bond bathed in blood until it ran in rivulets down their bodies, a testament to their mutual devotion. Reginald held scars, too, though he couldn’t claim many in Right’s defense. But the man had been present for every one, and lucky for it. 

The Toppat touched his left shoulder, high up in the meat of it, almost too close to vein to survive. 

-

It marred the skin, a weirdly-shaped thing, when Reginald looked in the mirror. 

He’d been shot at before, plenty of times, but he’d never _been shot_ before. The burn marks on his skin had faded, but the bullet wound and the marks from the stitching remained. 

His torso had them scattered, once-perfect skin and a smattering of hair a myriad of angry red or pale white marks. Some straight across and surgical, some jagged and branching, splotches of angry burns and slices like someone had tried to cleave the skin from his bones. 

He looked battle-worn, looked like he’d been through war, and Reginald supposed that he had. 

He snipped another long lock of hair, watching it fall onto the bureau. 

Battle-worn, and battle-won. He earned every mark and his life was just beginning, not ending. He’d make this the best reign the Toppats had ever seen, they’d all see. He’d been waiting for this moment all his life. 

Uncertain eyes looked back at him, almost accusatory. 

He’d really gotten himself into it this time. 

Wright knocked at the door. He knocked distinctively, without any hesitation or tentativeness. Reginald was confident enough in his guess that he spoke it aloud: 

“Enter, Wright.” 

His soon-to-be Right Hand Man walked through the door, in his regular getup as always, and stopped short. 

Reginald raised an eyebrow at him as he turned a soft red in the ears. His gaze flit down the soon-to-be Leader’s shirtless body, seeming to pause at every scar on the way down and back up again. 

He had to swallow past how gratifying it was. Play it off. 

“You,” Reginald gestured with the scissors, “Have seen me entirely naked before. Stop gawking.” 

“Not gawking,” Right snapped out of it, gaze jerking back upwards and immediately looking lost again. “You’re cutting your hair.” 

“I cannot go to the ceremony with my hair a fucking mess like it is,” Reginald snipped another lock off, watching the shorter curls bounce merrily into tighter coils against his skull. “I’ll comb it all back slickened once I have it short. It’ll sit nicely under my hats.” 

“Hmm,” Right hummed, giving him a sideways look. 

Alright, yes, it looked dreadful now. But he had a plan and it would look just fine once he was done. Reginald took another cut at it, squinting into the mirror. 

Right as at his elbow in the next second, a quick and silent hulk of a man. 

“Let me.” 

Reginald met his eyes in the mirror. “Really?” 

“Really,” Right made a motion with his hands, as if he were to cut with his fingers, “Be your first test of trust with me, wouldn’t it?” 

That earned him a begrudging smile and the handing over of scissors. Right cut quicker, more sure, free hand running through Reginald’s shoulder-length hair before setting it loose. 

The new Leader shivered at the touch, so careful but sure, twisting his hair lightly and cutting with a single snip. 

Right’s quiet look of gentle concentration was hard for him to look at. He looked away, back to his marked body, the plethora of swirls and lines that he earned in service to what would soon be _his_ organization. 

“Healing well,” Right commented as he ran rough fingers over Reginald’s tingling scalp, “Doesn’t look near as bad before.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Reginald replied. “I just wish I remembered how everything went down when I got it. It’s unfair that I get the aftermath and don’t recall the event.” 

“Eh, I’m not surprised,” His Right Hand lifted a shoulder, “You lost a lot of blood, Reg.” 

Reg. 

Right wasn’t making eye contact with him in a mirror. He’d only started using that name after Terrence nearly killed him. 

“I don’t remember,” The Leader knew it was redundant to repeat but couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I suppose I’m just lucky you were nearby.” 

The redhead’s gaze finally flicked up, met his. Unblinking, unwavering, and with the smallest hint of a smile. 

Affectionate. 

“Not the best day I’ve ever had,” Right mentioned, eyeing Reginald’s new scar, “Not at all.” 

If Reginald remembered anything, it was how much it hurt when Right pressed against the wound. Waking from his fuzzy state of being screaming, staring up into his face and realizing what had happened. The pain was indescribable. 

Now, Right’s fingers were gentle, brushing over the scar tenderly. He traced its outline, sending shivers down Reginald’s spine, thumb brushing over his collarbone. 

Not satisfied with the mirror, Reginald tilted his head back. Newly-clipped coils brushed a clothed torso and he met his Right Hand’s eyes. 

The other looked down at him silently, with so much pouring off his expression. He didn’t look away but kept brushing over Reginald’s skin, reverent and soft. 

The Toppat Leader swallowed. He reached, up, into tangled red hair, only touching the nape of his neck, and Right was already leaning down. 

Whatever he was feeling, it was far too tender to name. 

-

Reg lovingly leaned in, one hand on Right’s shoulder, kissing him softly before plopping down next to him on the couch. 

“You’re far too contemplative,” He told his husband, “There isn’t anything that interesting outdoors.” 

“Might be,” Right said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Take a walk with me later?” 

“Mnnn…” That would require him actually looking presentable to the public. “Maybe.” 

Right leaned in, smiling against his temple, leaving a smooch. He knew what he meant, of course. Reginald’s constant fussing over presentability had been something he’d carried with him since childhood. 

He closed his eyes, soaking in the affection, coffee still held in his hands and hair in his face. Right pushed it from his eyes like he could read his mind. 

And who knew? Maybe he could. 

Funny how that wouldn’t surprise him at all. After a certain amount of years, they had gotten very good at reading one another. Particularly once they’d started living in the same quarters. Funny, he always thought he’d hate that. Having someone else in his space, his business, his life.

But Right was different. He had been a part of his space, his business, his life, even before they became an item. It had been startlingly easy to make the leap. 

More like a tiny hop, really. 

Reginald had been familiar with the term intimacy as a euphemism, not so much as a core definition. The latter could encompass the former, surpass it. Be touches and directed looks and sex all it liked but also become something nerve rackingly honest in the next moment. 

He’d anticipated the leap. Hadn’t expected it to just be the hop. 

He leaned a little more heavily into his husband’s side, felt him sigh as much as he heard it, felt a soft kiss dropped onto his head. 

Warmth filled his chest and Reginald let it sit and simmer, comfortably. Let it soak through his veins like sunshine. 

Something old and familiar. That little hop was years in the past. 

-

Reginald liked sex. 

He didn’t feel like that was a scandalous thing to say. It was a human need for some people, and he was one of them. If it wasn’t yours, that was perfectly alright as well and Reginald wouldn’t think less of someone for it. It was just an aspect of his own personal life, something he was known for, rude whispers that apparently people thought he couldn’t hear. 

He liked sex very much, but once it was done, he wanted the hands off him. Much as he wanted and that was it, he didn’t like feeling smothered or controlled. He didn’t belong in anyone’s bed and never lingered. Never stayed later than he wanted to. 

Exceptions were made for one person. 

Why? Reginald wasn’t even really sure, if he were honest with himself. 

But here he lay, on his stomach, arms crossed over a pillow and head lying on them, closing his eyes and soaking in the moment. 

Lazy hands trailed over his sweaty skin, looking to soothe, not arouse. Comfort, trail roughly padded fingertips over the mars of his skin. 

Reginald didn’t know why he didn’t mind Right’s hands on him. Couldn’t explain how they felt reverent, not possessive, like they knew they were privileged to touch at all. 

He didn’t feel the cringing discomfort in this bed. He was hesitant to admit he liked lying here, afterwards, feeling fingertips on his skin and listening to the muted sounds of the airship. 

Lips pressed against the small of his back, against his spine, and Reginald damn near melted into the sheets. 

He made some kind of noise, he must have, because he felt the other smile. He pressed another kiss, a little higher, following the bumps of his spine. His moustache trailed over his skin as he moved slowly up towards his shoulders. 

“Tickles,” Reginald muttered sleepily, and Right rubbed his face in between his shoulder blades. 

He made a movement to kick the idiot, but his leg was caught and then Right’s barking laugh echoed in the dark room and honestly, Reg felt a little too content to push the issue. 

His shoulders were peppered with kisses, hands smoothing down his arms. He shifted and the other moved away from the ticklish crook of his arm, ever aware of Reginald’s body language. 

Reg looked over his shoulder, making eye contact, seeing if he’d understand this. 

He did, clearly, because he leaned in for a kiss, so chaste it was domestic, a little too much so for Reg to bear. 

He didn’t do domesticity. Didn’t understand the whole marriage business, why you’d tether yourself to one person like you knew your own future, how you could just take that chance. Waste your life. What if you were wrong? Would you live out your life in a little house with a picket fence, living as someone’s belonging? That wasn’t his style. 

Reginald was a fleeting thing, with a mind that went a million different directions at once. He was a hurtling asteroid with no desire to be a moon, caught within someone else’s gravity and held there, prisoner. 

He was living high, free, as the King of his own little world. His own Kingdom, his Subjects, his mind and his wealth were his own. And that wasn’t all. 

He had so many more plans in mind, so many years ahead, so much to look forward to in the future. He could travel the entire galaxy if he felt any desire to, why would he ever want to stop it all merely to become a moon? 

-

It wasn’t a moon so much, however. Reg curled into Right’s arms, watching as the neighbors finally ventured outside their homes. 

He didn’t gravitate around Right, if anything they rounded each other. He was the dominant personality, to be sure, but Right had years of keeping him in check to balance his overbearing mannerisms and wasn’t afraid to call him out. 

It had been his job for decades, after all. 

Right let Reginald lead most things because he preferred to follow. He was content with that where Reginald would seethe over it. However, in the event where Reginald needed him to step up or he needed Reg to back him up, they were both entirely willing to switch roles. 

There was a give and take, a tide, here, a push and pull that most people would never see. Reg was the dominant personality, yes, and that was what he wanted others to notice. He was the leader and his Right Hand Man was his enforcer, confidant, protector. 

But in that way, what people wouldn’t see, was that Right had a hold on Reginald like no other being ever had. 

If you have to enforce someone’s words, if you had to listen to their secrets and thoughts, if you had to protect them with your life (even from themselves), you held a great deal of their being in your hands. 

Reginald hadn’t thought of that himself when it all began. He’d elevated Right because he was the only person he trusted. Because he was an Elite (the bastard) before Reg was even brought on and threw in the bid for Reginald to become Toppat King. He’d done so out of necessity, because it would benefit the both of them. 

Oh, if he only knew. He’d laugh in his younger self’s face. 

Right held Reginald’s entire being in his hands in the most careful and gentle manner. Had learned everything he could, had let Reginald in to see his own self, had begun this mutual gravitation that he’d tried to claw away from. 

But you don’t fight gravity. It just is, and you can’t escape it for very long without crashing down again. 

Reginald could hear Right’s heartbeat, still steady and strong, and closed his eyes. He could hear neighbors outside talking, people were starting to go on runs and walk their dogs. 

The comforting thing about gravity is that it’s always there. Reliable, constant. Steady. And that was something Reg had needed as years wore on, as his desperate need to stay on top would veer into paranoia or rage. 

The other never wavered, would pull him back in, his gravitational protector. Keep that asteroid from crashing through and destroying everything it was trying to achieve. 

“You know what?” Reginald asked, tapping his fingers against the ceramic glass. 

Right grunted, thumb stroking his shoulder. 

“I love you.” 

His hand stilled for a moment, then squeezed Reginald tightly. 

He knew, of course. They’d only said so more times than Reginald could begin to estimate. But they very nearly hadn’t ever traded those words, their line of work came with a few hazards, and he’d be damned if he ever missed out again. 

They’d come close, a couple of times. 

Reginald had been one of the most popular, and least popular rulers to date. 

-

And that was why the assassin had been there. 

Someone had leaked that he’d be at their East Mesa bunker, they had to, because he wasn’t there more than four and a half minutes (he counted) before someone took aim. 

Reg was quick, was always watching for that kind of thing, but Right had immediately returned fire. 

Reginald always expected someone would try to kill him wherever he went. He hadn’t expected the second person. 

Right had gone down so fast Reg was sure he’d been shot through the skull. 

The rage he felt was white-hot. He hadn’t made a sound, just acted, wasn’t sure which of the four of them had fired the shot that killed the second man but hoped it was him. 

It wasn’t like when he faced off Terrence for the last time, the bloodstained, brain matter mess that had been, but he’d felt the same wrath. 

The ‘how dare you’ of it all. 

He’d grabbed a handful of Right’s jacket before Kabbitz and Sven had yanked at his arms, Jack had his gun trained and ready to take out any others. He’d cursed them all out, finally speaking after his silent fury, nearly spitting with each word. 

Right had lay motionless, and Reginald’s vision swam. 

He called his name, the name he gave him when they first met, anything to get him up. Kabbitz was bodily dragging him away and Sven was promising things he certainly couldn’t promise when he’d seen Right’s chest heave. 

Oh, the relief. He’d sagged with it, nearly made Kabbitz carry him into the bunker, his legs had given out so quick on him. 

“Right,” He’d called again, because he needed to hear him, know that he was nearby, “Right.” 

Funny thing. When you realize you cannot live without someone else. You tried so hard not to become involved and now your very being cannot continue to exist without them in the world with you. 

Reginald finally realized what love was, for him personally. It was this moment in his life, where he realized he would have gladly taken the shot for him, where he would have gone onto a frothing rampage to avenge him, would have grieved him in disjointed fury for the rest of his life. 

‘I can’t live without you’ was such a dramatic statement. And Reginald meant it with every inch of his heart. 

They’d carried his Right Hand Man inside, he’d been hit but wasn’t dead. Luckily they had doctors at this busy underground city, good ones, and Reginald had made sure they’d gotten all the resources they asked for in their dossier. 

He didn’t do ‘thank you’s,’ so that should get the point across. 

He’d told him that night, clutching his hand in his, watching Right’s pale face with desperation. He needed to know. If this ever happened again, he needed to know right fucking now. So at least Reg wouldn’t have that on his plate, have that hanging over him for the rest of his life. 

“I love you,” He’d said, with more honesty than he’d done most things in his life. 

And Right had replied with the most infuriating thing he’d ever heard. 

-

“I know,” He replied, lazily tracing his arm, “I love you, too.” 

Some woman’s ugly little dog was getting a little close to their fence line. Reginald narrowed his eyes. 

Oh, he could exploit the hell out of bitchy HOA’s. That could actually be fun, cause some discourse in this quiet, boring little strip of land. 

The sunlight was further overhead, now, no longer filtering all the way into their quiet living room. It was, however, now on the piano, which was blinding Reginald where he sat. He’d move if he were less comfortable right where he was at. 

Right didn’t move either, so maybe he felt the same. 

“It’s quiet here,” Reginald said, finally voicing what he’d been thinking all morning. 

“I like it,” Right replied, “Airship kept me up most of the time. Feels safer out here.” 

Reginald thought of the many scars under both their clothing, all their little close calls, the new slowness in Right’s reactions and the hitch in his gait, and he didn’t disagree. 

Reginald never liked the thought of suburbia, of white picket fences, but Right had. 

He’d admitted that to him recently, when he’d been forced into retirement. It had blown Reginald away, had rendered him speechless, because he’d never known that. 

After twenty-odd years, he’d never known that about his life partner. 

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier,” Reginald asked, looking out at the boring little lives in front of them, “That this was something you wanted?” 

Right leaned, rested his head against Reginald’s. The brim of his hat was pushed upward from the force of it. 

“Didn’t think you wanted it,” The other replied simply. “And I only wanted it with you.” 

Reginald bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t outwardly react. 

No, he didn’t like it. Not really. Didn’t look forward to life living on the earth instead of above or below. He’d always avoid that gravitational pull, if he could. 

But he’d learned something about himself, something he suspected in Right as well, something made apparent by a lifetime at each other’s side. 

“If I’m being perfectly honest, my dear,” Reg’s voice softened, something secret just for him, “I don’t think I could live without you.” 

There was a span of a couple breaths, and another kiss to his forehead, soft words spoken against it. 

“I know,” Right told him, “And I couldn’t, either.”


End file.
